Though life should comeWith all its marshalled honours, trump and drum,To proffer you the captaincy of someResounding exploit, that shall fillMan’s pulses with commemorative thrill,And be a banner to far battle daysFor truths unrisen upon untrod ways,What would your answer be,O heart once brave?Seek otherwhere; for me,I watch beside a grave.

Though to some shining festival of thoughtThe sages call you from steep citadelOf bastioned argument, whose rampart gainedYields the pure vision passionately sought,In dreams known well,But never yet in wakefulness attained,How should you answer to their summons, save:I watch beside a grave?

Though Beauty, from her fane within the soulOf fire-tongued seers descending,Or from the dream-lit temples of the pastWith feet immortal wending,Illuminate grief’s antre swart and vastWith half-veiled face that promises the wholeTo him who holds her fast,What answer could you give?Sight of one face I crave,One only while I live;Woo elsewhere; for I watch beside a grave.

Though love of the one heart that loves you best,A storm-tossed messenger,Should beat its wings for shelter in your breast,Where clung its last year’s nest,The nest you built together and made fastLest envious winds should stir,And winged each delicate thought to ministerWith sweetness far-amassedTo the young dreams within—What answer could it win?The nest was whelmed in sorrow’s rising wave,Nor could I reach one drowning dream to save;I watch beside a grave.